


Dammit, Rick, Let Lori Have Some Chocolate!

by Arisprite



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Ensemble Cast, Gen, Post Season 2, S'mores, The Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 15:26:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arisprite/pseuds/Arisprite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was Carl's freaking idea, but when Rick told Daryl to put back the chocolate and marshmallows back, Daryl found himself arguing that the group needed a break, and s'mores were the perfect way to do it. </p><p>Or, the group has s'mores around the campfire, and the Grime's family drama takes over everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dammit, Rick, Let Lori Have Some Chocolate!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [username_goes_here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/username_goes_here/gifts).



> There are a couple of people who deserve the blame for this. First, my sister Katie, who basically tied my down and forced me to watch the pilot of The Walking Dead while I was home for vacation. I was hooked by the time Rick staggered out of the hospital. Thanks a lot.  
> Second, my roommate username_goes_here, who snickered with me all last sunday about Daryl eating s'mores, and then I had to write it.  
> This is my first TWD fic, and hopefully it will be my last, as I have to write original stuff, dammit. Nano is coming up, and I finished all my Supernatural fic for that reason. Ugh. There will probably be more...

“Daryl, check it out!” 

Carl appeared in front of Daryl, holding a squashed bag of marshmallows, and two bent packages of Hershey’s chocolate bars up in front of his face. Daryl blinked, distracted from the roll of string he’d been examining. 

The group was in the middle of scavenging a mostly empty grocery store, looking through the leavings on the shelves. It was hard to find the useful stuff left; after over six months in this life, most things had been taken by other survivors. The food was taken, scattered, or spoiled, as were the useful supplies, but Daryl had found a shelf of string and twine that might do for the fletchings on his arrows. And apparently, Carl had somehow found some candy left. Though, what he wanted it for Daryl couldn’t guess- Rick didn’t like to waste space with non-essentials. Carl knew that. 

“I just need to find some graham crackers. Can we have s’mores tonight?” Carl asked, his eyes wide and excited. It was actually nice to see; Carl had been pretty grim lately. 

“S’more what?” Daryl asked, and Carl wrinkled his nose, not sure if he was joking or just distracted. Mostly that last one, he mused, reading the packaging on the twine. 

“Sah-mores. Chocolate, and marshmallows melted on graham crackers. You cook ‘em over a fire, and Dad already said we were having a fire tonight, since it’s getting colder.”

“I know what a s’more is, kid.”

Carl shrugged that off, and waved the marshmallows again. 

“Please, Daryl?”

“Do I look like your Daddy? Ask him.”

There was a pause, where Carl looked across the aisles to where Rick was talking to T-Dog, looking at bottles of drugs on the pharmacy counter. His shoulders lifted and slumped. 

“I wish you were,” He said to the ground. Daryl blinked, and his cheeks reddened. Discomfort and anger rose up in his throat, and he swallowed. 

“Shouldn’t say things like that.” Daryl said. Carl didn’t look up, grinding his teeth. Daryl felt eyes on him, and looked up to see Carol down the aisle. She was pretending to look at the stuff on the shelf, but she was obviously listening. Carl was slumped, letting the marshmallow bag ease towards the floor. 

Twisting his mouth to the side, Daryl breathed out through his nose, and then held open the top of his pack towards the kid. Carl blinked. 

“Well, go on. Stick ‘em in.” Daryl muttered. Carl lit up like a lightbulb, and practically shoved the stuff at him. 

“I gotta find from graham crackers!” Acting more like a kid than he had in months, Carl ran off into another part of the store, leaving Daryl standing there with the bag of marshmallows and chocolate. At his side, he sensed Carol step closer. He knew she’d heard. 

“He shouldn’t say shit like that.” Daryl hitched the bag around his shoulder. “Rick don’t deserve that from his own kid.” 

Carol shrugged lightly, and Daryl remembered her words that night after the fire. He narrowed his eyes. 

“Rick’s doing the best he can. I know you got a problem with him, but I don’t. He could have been a whole hell of a lot worse.” Both he and Carol knew that well, and Daryl was angry that Carol seemed to be judging the man still, in all this shithole of a life for being a little distant. Carol meanwhile, had deflated, looked towards where Rick was. 

“It’s not Rick I have problem with. It’s how he’s been treating Lori, and Carl.”

“It ain’t any of our business.”

Carol turned her head again, looking to the opposite side of the store, where Lori was peering at a stack of cans on a bottom shelf. She was starting to have trouble bending over, her stomach rounding out a little every day. 

“She’s my friend, and she’s hurting.” Carol replied. She looked fierce for a moment, the expression new but more and more common on her face, but then she morphed back into that familiar worry. “Rick does good keeping us alive, and I can’t fault him for much. But he should pay a little more attention to his family.”

Daryl looked over at Rick again. She hadn’t seen the man like Daryl had. Hadn’t seen the way his eyes go first to Lori and Carl before anyone else, or how if something took Rick’s attention from them, his eyes would plead Daryl to watch over them in his stead. 

“Rick pays attention.”

Carol shook her head slightly, looking away for a second, before eying the bag slung over his shoulder. Her lips quirked up, and she changed the subject. 

“So, s’mores tonight, huh?”

“You ever try to say no to that kid?”

____________________________________

Outside the store, Daryl was jumped by Beth’s light voice. 

“Are we really having s’mores tonight, Daryl?” 

He squinted at her, feeling the weight of the marshmallows, chocolate, and one solitary box of graham crackers in his backpack. Taking up important space, but Carl’s puppy dog eyes made him keep it. 

Lori, holding her own bag of supplies a few feet away, looked up. 

“Did you say s’mores?” She asked, her voice excited, hopeful. “God, does that mean you found chocolate?”

Carl nodded at his mother, his eyes bright. “Mmhm. It was in the freezer area. Power’s out, of course, but it didn’t melt too much during the summer.”

“Wow,” She breathed, smiling at her son. Daryl saw the others looking towards them with interest. Glenn and Maggie holding some clothes, exchanged smiles, and T-Dog pumped his fist. 

“Nice one!” He said, 

“What’s going on here?” Rick’s voice cut through the crowd, and they parted to show the taller man coming closer, his eyes narrow and unhappy. “Why aren’t you loading up the cars?”

“Daryl found stuff for s’mores, so we can have some tonight around the fire.” Glenn said, and Rick turned to Daryl. He didn’t exactly look glad about the idea, and Daryl’s face heated. 

“Hey, it wasn’t my idea!” He huffed, hitching the pack higher. 

“Then who’s was it?” Daryl’s eyes cut to Carl, standing a little behind his daddy, and saw him shaking his head frantically. Daryl’s protest stumbled to a stop. 

“Uh,”

“It was mine.” Carol said, stepping closer. “I thought it’d be fun for Carl and Beth.” 

Rick frowned, narrowing his eyes. 

“It ain’t safe for fun, Carol. Put it back.” Rick’s tone was firm, and he was already turning away, leading them back to the cars. Faces fell around the circle: Carl, Beth, Lori, and even Glenn looking disappointed. Carol bit her lip, her fingers twisting up in the hem of her sweater.

Daryl chewed his thumbnail, and watched Lori put her hand to her mouth to hold back whatever she was going to say. Screw it. 

“Rick, we can keep watch,” Daryl spoke up, causing Rick to turn back. “Like always. We’ll just have ‘em straight after dinner, while the fire  
is still going.”

Rick eyed him, and Daryl held his gaze for a moment, before dropping it to the strap of his backpack across his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Carol looking at Rick, her face tense. Daryl swallowed and looked back to Rick, not sure why he was so invested in this, wanting Rick to just let the group have a little break tonight. Maybe it was Carl’s slumped soldiers, or the way Lori’s eyes had lit up and lingered on his backpack. Or maybe it was how Carol took credit for the idea, he didn’t know. But he looked at Rick, and saw the waver. 

Then Hershel stepped forward. 

“We could all use the extra calories, Rick.” He said, gentle like always. With a wave of his hand, Rick gave in, and stalked off towards the sudan. As he left, smiles broke out, and Beth let out a giggle. 

Lori came closer to him, with alarmingly wet eyes. She reached out, and he twitched back until her hand landed on Carol’s elbow. 

“Thank you Daryl, Carol. It’ll be such a treat.” 

Carol said ‘you’re welcome’s for the both of them, and Daryl watched as Carl smiled like a kid for the first time he could remember since the quarry. The boy caught his eye, running off behind Beth, and nodded quickly. 

 

__________________________________

 

Later that night, as it got dim and chill, the group gathered around their small fire. It was after a dinner of canned bean and veggie stew, and jam smeared over crackers, and Rick had volunteered to watch. Normally, this time of night was quiet. People were tired from a day spent foraging, or fighting or just driving. They broke off into small groups, chatting or just sitting near each other, before laying down where they sat to sleep. But because of Carl’s idea, and Daryl’s persistence, the group was still up. Excitement was in the air. Daryl squatted in the dirt between Carol and Carl, poking at the fire to make sure it wasn’t too high- be rotten luck to bring down a herd on them now, just for being careless in their fun. 

Carl was cleaning and sharpening the last of a few long sticks, and laying them out beside the bag of marshmallows, the misshapen packages of chocolate, and the one box of slightly crushed graham crackers. Beth, on Carl’s other side, reached towards the bag to open it. 

Carol was on the other side of him, and sat crossed legged in the dirt, her elbows on her knees. She looked like a kid. 

“It’s been years since I had a s’more.” She said to the group at large. 

“No kidding,” Said T-Dog, “I must have been sixteen, last time I went camping.”

“We went last summer.” Carl said, pulling a long curl of bark off the stick he was working on. “We were going to go this year, but...”

Lori smiled, a little grimly. “Well, we’re out camping now, aren’t we?” 

Carl nodded, and began to pass out the sticks. 

“Yeah, too damn much.” Daryl couldn’t help but put in. People chuckled. 

“I was a teenager, last time. Beth was maybe ten.” Maggie put in. “Do you remember?”

Hershel put a hand on Beth’s hair. “We didn’t go as often as Beth wanted, I know that.”

“I barely remember.” She said, smiling. 

Glenn, straight across from him, reached for a stick from Carl. “Mine was scout camp, 2003.” 

Daryl relaxed back as the group chatted on, his ass in the dirt, hands on his knees. He didn’t often let himself think it, but it was kinda nice like this, just sitting quietly while the others talked. He drew a little design in the dirt, and so missed when the talk turned to him. 

“What about you, Daryl?”

He looked up, at Lori looking at him expectantly. 

“What?”

“When’s the last time you had a s’more?” She repeated, and Daryl ducked his head, his face flushing. He’d felt comfortable a second ago, but now he remembered how different his upbringing was from these people, how different they were, and if it weren’t the end of the world, there was no way in hell they’d be sitting around a campfire with him. 

“Never had one.” He muttered, remembering being out on hunting trips with Merle, or his dad and uncle, around the fire and wishing for a taste of one, but it had never been offered, and he’d never asked. Seeing them on tv sometimes, in shows or whatever. Wanting to try some, but never getting around to getting the stuff. 

Everyone was looking at him, shock on their faces. 

“What?” He demanded, that old default anger coming up. “You’re all looking like I kicked your puppy or something.”

Daryl glared at the fire for the time it took for Carl to get over his horror. 

“But you’ve _never_ had s’mores before? _Ever?_ ” He asked, disbelief heavy in his tone. 

“So what?” Daryl growled, picking at a loose thread of his pants. 

Carol was looking over at him, but he didn’t turn to meet her eyes. 

The light air around the campfire had gotten awkward, and Daryl ground his teeth, until Carl broke the tension. He put away his knife, and picked up one of the sticks. 

“You’ve gotta go first!” He said, ripping open the bag, and pulling out a marshmallow, shoving it on the end. “Here!”

Then he was holding the stick over the fire, and being bombarded with tricks and tips and advice on how to properly roast a freaking marshmallow. It’s not like it was complicated. 

The others holding sticks got theirs in the flames as well, and the awkwardness disappeared at the group got caught up in cooking. Daryl watched Carol slowly spin hers, letting it get the lightest golden brown, before pulling it back to eat without the chocolate or graham crackers. Daryl decided he wanted his more done than that, and eyed Lori’s perfect brown crust. Carl beside him just set his completely on fire, before blowing it out, peeling off the burnt part, eating it, and then cooking the next gooey layer. 

_Y’all weird. Thought we were having s’mores._

When his looked perfect, he pulled it upwards, admiring it a little in the light of the fire. 

“Here’s the rest, Daryl.” Carl said, holding the blobby chocolate, on a halved cracker. He stuck the marshmallow on the square, and let him put the top on before he carefully pulled the stick out. Carl traded his used stick for the s’more, and he was left holding a warm,  
sticky...thing. 

The group quieted then, and Daryl felt everyone turn to look at him. He narrowed his eyes, holding his s’more possessively. 

“Come on, people. This ain’t a peep show!” 

There was a flutter of laughter, and even Daryl couldn’t help but crack a tiny smile. Most of the group looked off obviously, but Carl still had his eyes fixed on him. 

“What you looking at?” He muttered to the kid, and Carl smiled stickily at him. Cheeky. 

Sighing through his nose at his ridiculous friends (all of whom were watching him again) Daryl lifted the s’more, and took a crunchy, gooey bite. 

It wasn’t like he’d never had the flavor before. All kinds of crap had s’mores on the label from granola bars to oatmeal. But the honest to goodness, roasted-over-the-fire-on-a-stick s’mores steamrolled over those other things. The taste was sweet and charcoaly, with melted chocolate and the crunch of the graham cracker going perfectly with the marshmallow. It was, in a word, delicious. By far the best thing he’d had in months.

“Mm.” He’d made some noise, and his face flushed as they all laughed. But their laughter, Carol’s soft huffs beside him; they weren’t mean. He licked his lips, and then snorted, and the laughter got louder. 

More s’mores were made, and the group moved on to other topics. T-Dog started a story about his college glory days on the rugby team. 

Reflexively, Daryl glanced around outside their circle, as the trees which sheltered them for the night, and the building they were huddled against. They’d found it was safer to have at least one side inaccessible from wandering walkers, and so tried to find a wall or building they could camp against. Then with the cars forming a second barrier it was easier to protect themselves, and still have a way out. The block from the weather would also be good in the coming months, as it was was already getting cold. 

Away past the light from the fire, Rick stood watch, looking off into the night. He held his rifle and a lantern if he needed it, and he’d hunched his shoulders up, one arm tucked under his other. It’d be winter soon. It was gonna be shit if they didn’t find some kind of permanent shelter, but Rick didn’t seem to want to stop anywhere. Understandable really, after the farm. After how they’d all gotten fat and soft there, basking in the seeming paradise of the Greene’s farm. Yeah, see how well that worked out. 

Yeah, settling was a touchy topic to even ponder, but they couldn’t run forever. Nights like this were fine, where the chill only touched what wasn’t facing the fire. They huddled together and slept safe another night with one of their own trusted on watch. But it wouldn’t last. Frost would come, snow even maybe, and with it less game, and no firewood, and they would starve or freeze or just plain die of the winter. 

He shuddered a little. Now wasn’t the time to think on that. He was warm, relaxed, with the taste of chocolate in his mouth. Shit would probably go down this winter, but it wasn’t that time yet. 

Movement in the darkness drew his eye, but it was just Rick shifting positions. He narrowed his eyes, peering through the gloom at the other man, slumped and solemn. He pushed himself to his feet, muttering something in response to Carol’s questioning glance, and went over to where Rick stood. 

He didn’t acknowledge Daryl as he came up. Kept his eyes on the woods; for the best, he guessed. Daryl looked out as well, but his eyes hadn’t adjusted yet from the light of the fire. He only saw blackness. 

Daryl wondered if he should say something, about how Lori was real glad they’d had s’mores tonight, or how Carl didn’t want to tell him it was his idea. Or even how Carol thought he wasn’t a good leader anymore. But Daryl figured Rick either knew or didn’t want to hear any of that. And since he’d never been one for small talk, he just stood beside the other man, and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. 

“I know it was Carl’s idea.” Rick said a while later. “To have the s’mores, I mean.” 

His voice was quiet, and Daryl turned his head a little to make sure he’d actually spoken. 

“Why didn’t you say?” He asked, and Rick shrugged. 

“He didn’t want me to know. Let me get mad at Carol instead.” Rick was talking like his old self, no where near that wild eyed Rick of a  
month ago. 

Daryl stood still. He wondered what Rick wanted him to say. Emotions were not his strong point, mostly he just hit whatever was upsetting him, but RIck’s life was more complicated than that. He figured Lori, being a woman and Rick’s wife, would know what to say, but they didn’t seem to be talking much lately. Dale or even Shane would know how to comfort or calm Rick with words, but neither of them were here right now. Daryl was. 

Swallowing, he reached out and put a hand on the back of Rick’s shoulder. Rick relaxed at the touch, used to someone reaching out to him, to comfort and help. He ducked his head, a half nod. 

“What do I do?” He whispered, and Daryl felt a flash of panic. He pulled his hand back. 

“What do any of us do, man?”


End file.
